“Sorry about that,” Taemin touched his left shoulder, digging his thumb in there, feeling nail hitting bone, “I had no idea he was coming over.”

Jongin pulled fast his shirt on and immediately buttoned it up, his back turned to him. Taemin pressed harder, feeling the joints in his shoulder moving. It hurt.

“He usually calls, but I guess after what happened yesterday,” he trailed off, inhaled, looked away. Jongin was still working on his clothes, leather pants next, secured around his waist once Taemin lifted his eyes. “He also invited me over for family dinner and I asked if you could come too, if you want to, since,” he stopped, meeting Jongin’s eyes.

Sleepy? Moody? Upset? Angry?

No, not angry.

Taemin had never seen him angry, even while driving and a car or two cut in line. Taemin also regretted for the first time that Jongin had a deep look.

He couldn’t decipher his thoughts in that moment, not as he had last night. Every touch and every word, every kiss and every breath, naturally following one another in a dance. Greed took roots in his chest and he wished it lasted longer, if not for his body betraying him repeatedly. Seeing Jongin rushing to get out of the apartment only further hurt him, roots sprouting into weeds.

He felt like Jongin had been slipping away from him before Taemin got a chance to solidify their relationship. Strands of sand, droplets of water, he had no container to help him hold onto it.

He let go of his shoulder, the pain lingering.

Maybe Jongin wanted more. Was that it? Or had he done something in his sleep? Or maybe it had been only the shame of being seen almost by his older brother, which, would have embarrassed him too if he almost flashed Jongin’s brother – if Jongin even had a brother. Or a mother and a father for that matter, a sibling of any kind, any other relatives he was close to.

Family wise, he knew nothing about Jongin.

Or, better said, he knew nothing about Jongin at all. No matter how many dates they went to, how many stories they shared, how many times he found himself holding Jongin’s hand or Jongin holding him at his chest, he wasn’t sure if the heart he felt through his wrist or from beyond his ribcage belonged to the real Jongin and not to a Jongin he imagined.

He had many lives in his novels and he did not want to add that one, too, to his collection.

“Jongin,” he got up, “I’m sorry.”

“For what?” Jongin’s voice was gruff. He coughed and swallowed and cleared anything blocking his throat. “I mean, dinner sounds nice. And it’s alright, I’ve had worse things happen to me while -,” he let out a chuckle and hugged Taemin before any other word escaped him. “And I’d love it if you come over at my place next time. Unless you’re allergic to dog fur, then there might be a slight problem.”

Taemin stared at him as if Jongin landed from Heaven, wings, and all, fluttering.

“I love dogs.”

“I have two.”

Taemin took a bit more to think, with the same stare, almost wanting to touch the air behind Jongin and check whether some feathers loitered there. “So you’re coming to dinner too?”

“Dinner too. Should I pick you up?”

“If you don’t mind.”

That was… easy.

Taemin made a promise to talk more, speak up, try to actually tell Jongin if something bothered him as long as Jongin would do the same, and it already felt like they had taken a step further into whatever they were having. He should also try to apologize less. He had nothing to apologize for in the first place, right? Jongin would want him to act like the suave author he met between the pages of his book, that second voice narrating the story he enjoyed so much. Not like one who carried a shell on his back to hide into whenever something alarmed him, whenever someone stepped into his comfort zone, whenever he once again compared the present with what he left behind. He should really work on all that, for his sake foremost.

But that too takes time.

Everything needs time.

“I don’t, Mr. Lee. Should that be our next date?”

A Date.

Taemin did not want to admit it aloud: he wanted more and more and more. He wanted Jongin. Wanted to boast to his friends and acquaintances, to his editor and agent and all his readers and followers, how that terrifically amazing man was all his and only his and no one else’s. He wished Jongin wanted the same, wanted to present him to his friends, to his family, colleagues and to the entire world.

That wasn’t Taemin. He did not want a pet. He wanted Jongin just the way he was and had no desire to prove to the world they were together… well, dating. That too would pass at one point, wouldn’t it? He had to have patience, practice it, screw into his head what everybody’s been telling him – slow down.

“Yes.” The weeds in his chest made way for flowers and the petals and their smell and their color and their brilliance seeped again into his smile and into his eyes, burning. “It’s a date, Mr. Kim.”

Jongin nodded, ready to leave. Taemin stopped him with a subtle touch on his arm.

“Are you,” he began, coming closer. “Are you going to have breakfast too?”

---

Lee Jinki.

Jinki was… alright, Jongin would say.

He wasn’t going to stab his eyeballs with his chopsticks like Heechul might have and, unlike the other brother, he relaxed around him – even after he had seen him with only a towel on. The thought made Jongin’s face erupt in hot flames as he slurped on his soup. Never had he thought he’d enjoy seaweed soup that early in the morning, but he needed all the energy he could get.

The entire menu spread across several bowls consisted of what Jongin called ‘healthy food’, along with a cup of insamcha for Taemin and a small bottle of some tonic he hadn’t seen before. If Jongin hadn’t had Jinki right in front of him, eating with them at the table, he would have imagined him as some kind of old uncle with a cane and grizzly hair and a smile as intense as Taemin’s – they shared that trait.

“Tall, dark and handsome,” Jinki commented at one point.

Taemin choked on his food. He smacked his chest, coughing and tearing up, while Jinki gave him a hard slap on the back.

“Oh my God,” he gasped, reaching for the glass of water.

“You’re so predictable, little brother,” Jinki laughed and grabbed Taemin’s shoulder, giving it a squeeze.

Jongin had no idea what they were talking about and wasn’t sure he wanted to, but from the way both glanced at him, he figured they shared some kind of inside joke. It didn’t bother him – but he was curious. Alas, the wise one knows when not to speak up, so Jongin chewed at his food and pretended to be oblivious to the world surrounding him.

In his silence, he learned to listen, mostly because Jinki talked a lot more than Heechul and Taemin combined.

Jinki explained how he came to the city for a job offer. During holidays, he helped his friend sell street food. In one of those days, he met his current wife and decided to settle permanently in. He opened a restaurant, which he had been managing for years and at which he had been acting as the main chef – which explained why the food tasted so delicious. Taemin came later to attend University and the two had lived together until he moved into his current apartment.

“This is my daughter,” he took a bunch of photos out of his wallet and proudly pointed at one with a black-haired woman holding a baby in her arms, wide eyes curiously gazing into the camera. “She likes making sand cakes,” he placed the second picture near the first one, showing the toddler had grown up into a sweet and shy three-year-old, covered from head to toe in sand.

“Sand cakes?” Jongin asked, leaning closer to study her. He could already see some of Jinki’s features in her, but she strangely did not resemble him as much as he thought girls usually resembled fathers.

“Sand cakes,” Jinki nodded and muttered under his breath, “that she always wants us to taste.” He coughed in his fist, laughing at the memory. “Fortunately, we trained the dog to sit on her cakes whenever she’s about to cut us a piece.”

He laughed harder and Jongin only smiled.

Taemin had been staring at them with his chopsticks almost touching his lips and his eyelids falling more often than usual, still not completely awake. He snapped out of it when he heard Jinki laugh even louder, if that was possible, after he added a third photo. He bent over, trying to see what sparked his brother’s famous chuckle, only for all sleepiness to shoot out of him.

He stretched as much as he could, trying to grab the photo before Jongin had a chance to examine it. Jinki’s fingers were faster. He seized the photo off the table and held it straight for them to see.

“And this was taken not long before I left for Seoul.”

It was a picture of the three brothers: Jinki – oldest, Heechul – middle and Taemin – youngest, posing in front of the camera, with what looked like hills rising in the background, and an older woman with a familiar grin – the mother, he guessed – completing the family portrait. What struck Jongin most was how young they all looked. Jinki couldn’t have been older than 16, Heechul had his hair cut short and a goofy smile, while Taemin was the tiniest and scrawniest among them, short messy hair and a wannabe serious expression. Nevertheless, they were happy. At least, that’s what Jongin felt – none looked stiff. Even Taemin had a sort of pride in him, something Jongin could never see when he looked back at his old self.

Despite everything they must have gone through, they looked content and closely knitted together – like a family should be.

Like Jongin’s family should have been.

He only smiled again and pulled away, glancing at Taemin. He saw he had buried his face in his bowls, embarrassed.

Mostly because Taemin did not want Jongin to see his early monkey face. Damage done, he tried to stuff as much food as he could in his body, hoping it would bounce back to normality before the day formally began. He wiped his mouth and stood up, dizzy.

He had to lie down.

Jongin’s smile faded when Taemin excused himself and left.

It was the second time Jongin ended up in a staring contest with one of the Lee siblings, only, just as with everything else, Jinki made no snarky remark, no threat and asked nothing of his relationship with Taemin. Instead, he gathered all the photos back in his wallet and quietly ate with Jongin.

After most of the bowls emptied, Jinki stood up and grabbed the nearest ones, stacking them together and placing them near the sink.

“Mr. Kim?”

“Please,” Jongin grabbed the other batch, carefully picking Taemin’s chopsticks, “call me Jongin.”

“And you Jinki, no need to be formal.” He looked up and waited until Jongin lifted his eyes too. “Please take care of my brother. He’s clumsy and chaotic, but he’s a good kid.”

Jinki placed his hands by his sides with a soldier like precision and bowed deeply at an almost 90 degrees.

Jongin’s heart tightened. He didn’t want anyone to bow that low to him. He didn’t deserve it. But before he could tell or do anything, Jinki was already back up and grinning as if nothing happened.

“Well then, I’ll be cleaning here. You go ahead and spend some time with him or whatever.” Jinki grabbed the bowls out of Jongin’s hands.

“I can’t just let you clean up alone.”

“I insist you do,” Jinki put the dishes aside, turning on the water. “He needs you.”

Jongin, again, wasn’t sure what to say and his words delayed, thinking and rephrasing and reconstructing his sentences, until he finally bowed back at an equally low angle.

“Thank you.” He got up and they both shared one last look, before Jongin went to check on Taemin.

---

Taemin watched Jongin take on his shoes and coat and he stole a kiss from his lips, then he saw him leave out the door, and Taemin tiptoed on the cold floor, peeking outside the hallway. And he was smiling when Jongin glanced over his shoulder and waved lightly his hand, like a child saying goodbye to his mother rather than a lover to a lover.

Back in the apartment, he took the sofa hostage and pulled his feet under him, watching Jinki place a tray with cups and more tea in front of him.

“You should go rest.” Jinki sat next to him, patting his thighs and rubbing his hands over his knees. “Ah, this floor is nice.” He grinned, his toes tapping lightly the heated floorboards.

“I can’t,” Taemin hid his yawn behind the back of his palm, stretching. “Changmin should be here soon.”

“Changmin? You aren’t going to work, are you?”

“I have no choice,” Taemin’s head fell in his palms, a headache coming and going the more he spoke. “My agent’s an and Changmin went through a lot of trouble already, I don’t want to burden him further.” He looked up, facing Jinki again.

Taemin found it easier to open up to Jinki. He took care of him as a child, carrying him on his shoulders through mud after a downpour, carrying him down the hill when Taemin tired and sprinting together across the field before nightfall or after they stole an egg from the neighbor because their hen gave them none that day and Taemin whined all morning for some. When Taemin came in the city for University, Jinki offered him a roof to sleep under and made sure he never went hungry.

In turn, Taemin gave him a hand in the kitchen and on the streets; he was there when Jinki needed someone to turn the meat or cut some vegetables or scrub the dishes. He was there when someone had to look over his wife while Jinki worked, was there with her in the hospital, was there in the morning when she felt sick, was there when the baby finally came and was there to change the diapers and feed her and cuddle her to sleep.

He knew that if he told Jinki what bothered him, his brother would try to help him right away, no matter the cost. Reason why Taemin couldn’t say much.

He wanted Jinki to go back to his family, spend the rest of the day with them, to forget about him ever fainting and to stop worrying about things that passed and things that wouldn’t happen again.

But the way Jinki had been watching him on that sofa, a blank stare, almost dominating, Taemin knew he couldn’t tie his tongue.

“I’ll be fine, really,” he insisted, even forcing a smile and a small laughter and closing his eyes a little to fool his brother. “And I’m changing my agent after we’re done with this novel. And Jongin’s coming to dinner.”

“This Jongin.”

“I know what you’re going to say,” Taemin retorted. “You’re going to say it’s too fast, that I don’t know him, that I shouldn’t so easily let someone in my home and that I should be careful because he might be some wacko that only wants to use me and my name.”

“Actually,” Jinki tilted his head, leaning it against his hand, watching him amused. “I was going to say you’ve changed.”

“We all change.”

“I know, but,” Jinki patted Taemin’s arm. “I’m happy that you’re smiling again. If this Jongin’s responsible for it, then I’m glad you two met.”

Taemin watched his back agape while Jinki gave him a moment alone in the living room.

Slowly, he turned to the window. The bluish glow hadn’t left, silvery and grey patches obscuring his view.

Winters depressed Taemin, not because everything withered and dwindled and rotted. He used to love winter, used to love the coolness on his skin and the crisp smell and the fresh taste. A love like that made it harder to forget, especially when winter rece a year and his prayers switched from those wishing for a white Christmas to those wishing for bleak days to pass quickly. That winter too enervated him, and he found himself more than once under more blankets, hotter showers, anything to reanimate his body and mind before he became a walking corpse. But winter still came in full force and it still snowed, the air still cleared, the chilliness of autumn made way to the freezing winds of December and Taemin wondered whether he could love winters again.

He touched his lips.

Maybe the Snow Queen wouldn’t snatch him that year. Jongin might be the one to pluck the splinters of the devil’s mirror out of his heart and make winter a bit more bearable.

Did he really need someone to make himself feel better, someone’s approval to exist? He covered his mouth and chin, looking next at the table and the tea and the floor. Had he no other way to live than through others?

Leech.

Taemin touched his shoulder, pain gone. He touched his chest, grabbed at the sweater right where his heart should have been pulsating with fear and anger. Instead, it hiccupped once, twice, smoothly running afterward.

He’ll be okay.

Taemin took in a deep breath.

He is okay.

---

Jongin grabbed a cushion, tossed it on the floor and sat on it, hearing Sehun’s soft snore behind him. He slipped his hand under his glasses to rub his eyes, feeling like he had no strength left in any part of his body.

“Sehun,” he called out weakly, needing the sleeping man’s shoulder for himself. “Sehun, wake up.”

Sehun’s right arm was hanging limply from the sofa, his fingers twitching slightly from his voice. Jongin grabbed it and shook it until it sprang to life and wrapped around Jongin’s shoulders, Sehun’s nose joining in and rubbing against the back of his head.

“Five more minutes, mom.”

“I’ll give you five minutes later,” Jongin took his glasses off and tossed them on the table. “Merry Christmas, Sehun.”

“Merry Christmas,” Sehun muttered behind him, sleep sounding a lot sweeter than anything Jongin gifted him. “What are…,” he snapped his eyes open, suddenly remembering Jongin hadn’t been home when he got from work.

The dogs greeted him, so that ruled out his first theory of Jongin going for a run. He knew for sure that he had no work that day, no matter how crazy his superiors sometimes were, and if he had eventually left for work, he would have left him a message of some sort (maybe a thank you because Sehun spent most of his day cleaning the house, washing their laundry and decorating the Christmas tree). He could only see the black mop of Jongin’s hair, unruly like after a night of drinking. Sehun sniffed it. There was no scent to confirm his theory. Lifting his other arm, he joined hands and grinned, placing his chin on top of Jongin’s shoulder. The verdict came in and it pleased Sehun more than he would have liked to acknowledge. His friend was maturing.

“You slept over at that guy’s place?”

“Yeah,” Jongin threw his head back, almost colliding with Sehun’s face, a smile just for him. Sehun pulled away, slowly sat up on the sofa and made room for Jongin to haul himself off the floor and drop next to him. “Just slept.”

“Nothing else?”

“Nothing else.” Sehun pointed at Jongin, who refused to look at him, shoulders hunched, embarrassed and fiddling idly with his fingers between his knees. “But it was nice. Just sleeping. Have I told you how well he smells?”

“Only like a gazillion times,” Sehun scoffed and grabbed a nearby cushion, holding it to his chest and sulking. “Speaking of smelling, did you give him the gift?”

“I forgot,” Jongin imitated Sehun’s gesture with the other available cushion, brows furrowing “I should have just bought him a book instead.”

“Was sleeping over that bad?”

“You have no idea.”

“I’m pretty sure it was alright.”

“I jacked off in his bathroom. I couldn’t even face him after that.” And Sehun smacked him with the cushion. “Okay, what the heck dude?”

“Revenge for last time you hit me. And that’s,” Sehun had to bite down his lip, attempting to speak, only for his mouth to form a thin line. He could do it. Do. Not. Laugh. Oh. Sehun. “Alright, that’s damn embarrassing.”

 “I know,” Jongin whined and squeezed the air out of the cushion.

“You’re a loser, Kim Jongin.”

“I know.”

“What did you guys do to heat you up?”

“That has nothing to do with it.”

“Jongin.” Sehun finally calmed his voice and he no longer looked amused. It made Jongin slightly uncomfortable, because serious Sehun usually meant a serious talk too and he wasn’t in the mood for it. “Do you like that guy that much?”

“I think,” Jongin suddenly shot up and tossed the cushion back on the sofa. “I,” he paused and sat back, burying his face in his palms.

“What do you like about him?”

“His smile.” Ablaze, stars forming a constellation from one corner of his mouth to the other. Jongin paused. Jewels glinting from pools of darkness, two black holes in the vastness of the universe. “His eyes. His voice.” Pulling him in, calling for him, the song of a siren from the depths of the ocean, luring him.

Sehun groaned, almost feeling how much Jongin struggled to give a straight answer. “Not physically. Personality. What do you like about him?”

Jongin had to pause again, to the never-ending frustration of Sehun. Then, when he felt he had the right word, he carefully said, “He’s kind.”

“How?” Sehun leaned closer, eyebrows low.

“How?” Jongin’s own pair went up, body leaning to the side towards the armrest so the gap between them enlarged.

“How is he kind?”

“He’s patient with me and…,” pause, “he borrowed me clothes when I...,” pause. Truthfully, he didn’t know why Taemin would be kind. Or why he would call him kind. Wasn’t that common sense rather than kindness?

“I don’t know,” he admitted defeated, yet Sehun felt no need to gloat in his misery. “I don’t know alright? I just like him.” Jongin sighed, seeing Sehun still not willing to give him at least a pat on the back. “He’s like the sun.”

Jongin shrunk in his corner. He shouldn’t have said that. He saw in Sehun’s eyes how ridiculous it sounded.

“The sun? You know what the sun does?”

“Warms me up?”

“Blinds you, Jongin. The sun blinds you.”

Jongin ruffled his locks.

“I don’t know, alright? I don’t know anything anymore.”

“Well then, Jon Snow,” Sehun pulled Jongin at his chest. “Make sure you know a thing or two fast, alright? Before the guy gets hit by an arrow or something.”

“Aren’t you going to scold me?”

Sehun let go and clapped once, spreading his arms after and shrugging.

“It’s not my life and if you screw it up, I’ll still be here.” Sehun winked. “Just make up your mind.”

Jongin stared at the wall, at the pictures hanging there, at the door, at the window, light still not strong enough to caress the entire room. He glanced at Sehun’s now worried look, then back to his feet when he felt the two dogs greeting them, wagging their tails and bopping his feet with their snouts, both eager to go out.

Jinx and Thunder – he adopted them together once he heard some volunteers saved a couple of dogs from a dog meat farm. He hadn’t been working for long with his current company. Days seemed endless, nights never-ending as he rolled in bed thinking about numbers and factors and planning. Despite all, he made sure to visit the rescue facility every day, no matter how exhausted or how stressed out he felt. Slowly, but surely, he learned to cope with everything and be stronger, just as the dogs learned to trust him, and love and live.

“How are the boys?”

“I walked them when I got home, but I guess they missed you the most.” Sehun scoffed. “By the way, have you called your mom?”

“Not yet.”

“You should.”

“Maybe I will,” Jongin got up, the dogs following as he headed to the bedroom to change clothes. “I’m going for a run first.”

---

The constant babble, the sound of glasses clinking and meat sizzling, the smell of grilled pork on charcoal, of garlic and ginger, blasted Jongin’s senses. He stopped dead in the doorway.

“What’s wrong?” Taemin spoke behind him.

“Nothing,” Jongin hadn’t expected it to be that full on the second day of Christmas, but he generally did not expect a lot when it came to public places. There was barely any room for them to squeeze in.

He half thought Jinki’s restaurant would be modern, chic, like out of a professional magazine photoshoot. The other half, the more rational one, guessed it would be homey, something that made anyone feel good, regardless of whether they were eating alone or with company.

It did look cozy. Tables were neatly packed together in one large hall, with enough space between them so the waiters could smoothly flow between orders. Warm light flushed the rustic décor, from the wood on the walls and the wooden furnishing and the thin branches and trunks of trees popping here and there in transparent cases, heavy from Christmas globes. In the center of the room spun a dozen golden stars of various sizes.

“Yuri!” Taemin hogged Jongin’s arm, tugging him to one of the corner tables hidden behind one row of encased branches.

A woman stood tall from her chair, with her black hair tied in a bun and her beige sweater and black trousers, waving eagerly in their direction. Jongin didn’t match the image in Jinki’s photos to the image of the real life model at first, but after her smile enlarged and she tossed her arms around Taemin, he recognized her as Jinki’s wife.

And while he should be focusing ahead and prepare for when Taemin would present them, his eyes fell on the little girl perched on the second chair. Their eyes met and for a fraction there, Jongin’s palms itched to grab her and say hello and know all about her. He smiled a bit too much and aggressively waved his hand at her. As a greeting, the girl lifted her shoulder and tried to hide by pulling her salmon cardigan to the level of her eyes, suddenly shy with the stranger next to her uncle.

Jongin puckered his lips, sulking.

“This is Kim Jongin,” he focused again on Taemin and the woman when he heard his name, bowing on command and replacing his pout with a dashing grin.

“Lee Yuri, pleasure to meet you.” The woman returned the bow, pointing next to the table. “Just give me your coats, it’s too hot in here.”

Jongin peeking at the little girl again. She slowly lowered the cardigan, her expression stoic, gaze cautious. She had Jinki’s eyes and the shape of his face, while everything else strikingly resembled her mother. Jongin tried a second time, again with smiling, not as excited as before, and waving his hand, not as strongly. She let go of the cardigan, her gaze curious.

“Yoona,” her mother’s voice broke her focus, startled. “Say hello.”

Yoona was swinging powerfully her legs. One of her cheeks swelled, suddenly not in the mood to socialize.

“Yoona?” Taemin crouched before the girl, chuckling. “Remember me?” Yoona took in Taemin’s eyes matching hers and his funny long hair. Her face suddenly brightened. She wrapped her tiny arms around Taemin’s neck, whimpering slightly and struggling to pull him close with all of her strength. Taemin gently embraced her by the waist and hoisted her up from the chair, taking her seat and placing the girl on his lap.

“My, you grew so much!”

Yoona’s fingers hitched to his sweater and she hid at his chest.

“She’s sleepy,” Yuri stated matter-of-factly, holding their coats. “I’ll be right back.”

Jongin didn’t follow Yuri, sulking again as he sat opposite of Taemin and Yoona. He shaved and he smelled good and his hair and his clothes and everything looked clean, so why was the girl still afraid of him?

“Yoona?” Taemin cocked his head to his right, so the girl could see him. “Don’t you want to talk with uncle?” Yoona in her lips and puffed out her cheeks. “Are you shy with me?”

She goggled right away at Jongin, who tried again to smile and to wave his hand, with even less enthusiasm than the last two rounds.

“Oh, I get it. Are you shy with Jongin?” And Jongin’s smile unglued from him and hurried somewhere on another client’s face, while his fingers fell into his palm. “Uncle Nini is really nice, Yoona. Why don’t you say hello to him?”

Yoona let go of his sweater and gripped at Taemin’s hands, then her arms found their away around his neck again. The girl whispered something at Taemin’s ear, which made the man laugh.

“What?” Jongin’s elbows rested on the table, leaning closer to the two. “Hi, Yoona. I’m Jon---,” no, how did Taemin call him? “Nini. I’m uncle Nini. And you’re Yoona?”

Yoona gnawed on her thumb, nodding.

“How old are you?” No answer. “Hmmm, are you two?” No answer. “Three?” Nothing.

Jongin pouted.

“She thinks you’re handsome.” Taemin finally said, poking Yoona’s cheek.

Yoona gasped.

“Wah, uncle Taetae! Why did you tell him!”

Jongin and Taemin laughed.

---

Jongin loosened his top two buttons. He fixed his sleeves and checked his watch.

Dinner could have gone wrong, especially after Heechul made his grand entrance about halfway through it. But Jongin was surprised to find out that Heechul was funny and he spent the entire evening laughing every time he and Jinki entered a battle of wits, which Yuri put an end to swiftly – she was clearly the one wearing pants in the family.

Or the alcohol they served infused with the moisture in the air and went straight to Jongin’s brain.

Taemin had two quick shots of soju after he lost a dare with Heechul and was halfway through a tall glass of beer. He was slouching in his chair and nibbling at some leftovers, idly listening to Heechul’s latest mishaps after his trip to Daegu, snorting or smiling wide, gums visible and his face wrinkled.

As for Jongin, it took five minutes to gain Yoona’s trust after her sudden confession and he had been jubilating ever since. The girl wouldn’t stop talking. She told him about her cakes and how the dog always ruined them (Jinki and Yuri averted their eyes) and how much she loved playing with other kids in the park. He also cut small pieces of boiled chicken and helped the girl eat, poured her juice and held her for the remaining of the evening, unperturbed when she fell asleep in his arms and drooled all over his white shirt.

Yuri eventually removed her from his lap and as they walked away, for the little girl to get her beauty sleep, she rubbed her left eye and waved at him. Jongin returned the gesture.

“Hey,” he stopped checking the hour, facing Taemin, “wanna go for a walk?”

That was how they ended up on the streets, hands in pockets and steam coming out of their mouths, with no plans on returning to the restaurant. They weren’t the only ones who found the public places ideal that evening, parents with children, old couples, younger couples, masses of people celebrating.

Jongin didn’t call his mother.

Or father.

He contacted no one in his family that Christmas. He’d see them for New Year’s anyway.

If he had to compare, his family was nowhere as nice as Taemin’s. Surely they had their troubles too, but they put them aside in favor of good quality time – Heechul had been exemplary in this category. His parents never understood that it never mattered how much free time they had to waste on him if nothing worthwhile happened during it. He joked often that his dogs adopted him, not the other way around, became their new family the more he distanced himself from his real one.

He caught Taemin glancing at him and stopped.

“Are you feeling alright?” Taemin had one too many drinks, Jongin thought. Jinki should have stopped him, but he said nothing, so Jongin said nothing, too.

Taemin nodded and turned his entire body until they were facing each other, perfect height difference, perfectly tilting his head upward and Jongin downward to lock eyes, as they had done it countless of times.

“Are you?”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

Jongin panicked. He must have said or done something throughout the evening to provoke Taemin’s question. He shifted his eyes away, pulling his hands out of his pockets, the winter coolness drying the sweat off his palms.

“I don’t know,” Taemin took his hands. “Want to get something to drink? Hot chocolate again or?”

Jongin brought him closer. “Actually, I want to ask you something.”

“Is it a serious question, Mr. Kim? You seem rather serious now.” Taemin was joking, but Jongin felt a pang in his chest when he heard his nickname.

They met for dinner, on a night like that, in a restaurant too. Jongin wouldn’t have guessed back then that he’d be holding Taemin’s hands in the middle of the street and ask, “Do you want to be my boyfriend, Mr. Lee?”

A/N

Comments temporarily enabled until next update because Koemi and I have a bet going on and I can’t wait for her to lose heh. 
no, you will lose mwahaha (you guys rock <3 we love ya)

See you next time!